


Weak and Wanting

by sociallyawkward_fics



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Flirting, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Goes To Kaer Morhen, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jealousy, Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), M/M, Meddling, Meddling Eskel, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Vesemir (The Witcher), Parental Vesemir (The Witcher), Pet Names, Pining Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, Slow Burn, Vesemir is So Done (The Witcher), Winter at Kaer Morhen (The Witcher), matchmaker eskel, matchmaker lambert, meddling lambert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-25 06:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30084942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sociallyawkward_fics/pseuds/sociallyawkward_fics
Summary: Geralt had thought that inviting Jaskier to Kaer Morhen after all these years would be a good thing. What he didn't plan on was his brothers deciding to have a little fun with their situation. Lambert and Eskel really needed to stop meddling in things they didn't understand, especially when it came to his bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 30
Kudos: 239





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took me 10 months to complete and I am ready to yeet it out of my brain and into the world lol.
> 
> I got a prompt in early 2020, right after I started writing Witcher content, asking for a jealous!Geralt fic, and then hoarding it for a few months before I finally started working on it. Originally, it was meant to be a oneshot, probably under 10K. Then, it just kept going and going and going and it became this 12-chapter monstrosity that took me from May 2020 until just a few days ago to complete lol. If you want to see the full prompt, you can find it in [this post on my tumblr](https://sociallyawkward--fics.tumblr.com/post/645746969751453696/image-id-two-asks-from-amazingmsme-the-first). I don't know if I fully captured what it was asking for, but I hope I did that wonderful idea justice because I love it so much lol.
> 
> That being said, I hope you all enjoy this fic. Also, I'm sorry if this chapter has any mistakes, I have read and edited this first chapter so many times since May 2020 that I can't stand looking at it anymore lol

Geralt was doing that thing again.

It happened at the end of every autumn season. They travelled further and further north. They left Temaria and crossed the Pontar, and Geralt got even shiftier than usual. They made their way through Redania, and Jaskier could practically feel Geralt’s hackles rising. They reached the Kaedweni borders and Geralt’s shoulders were so tense they were up past his ears.

Geralt would be leaving him behind soon to go winter in Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier would travel back through the lands to settle in Oxenfurt until spring hit and the snows melted.

Jaskier waited every day for the typical excuses. He wouldn’t be hurt, when they came. He knew Kaer Morhen was probably no place for a human, being difficult enough to hike to even before the snow and ice set in to impede the travel. Not to mention the monsters lurking about the mountains; and the witchers themselves, if they were anything like Geralt when he’d first met his White Wolf. They probably wouldn’t take well to a stranger.

Jaskier could tell that Geralt had been taking them through a longer route to get to where he was going. There were far faster routes, the ones they’d taken in past years, through the riverside border towns. Instead, Geralt had led them through Rinde (or, more accurately,  _ past _ Rinde, as neither had been keen to return ever since the djinn incident) and up into Kaedwin’s rough wilderness, with the nearest cities being a week’s travel at  _ least _ .

Geralt was doing that thing again, where he drew out his goodbye to Jaskier as long as he possibly could.

Honestly, Jaskier thought it was sweet. Geralt’s words and glares may have often been harsh, but he spoke much louder and  _ much _ more fondly with his actions than anything else. Geralt could deny their friendship all he wanted, but Jaskier could see the truth. The man liked him, whether he wanted to or not. Jaskier had grown on him.

Like a weed. Or a  _ particularly  _ stubborn flower.

(Granted, Jaskier would love something more than friendship, but truly, simply having Geralt in his life was enough. So long as they were together in some fashion, Jaskier could suffer a little pining. He could suffer through anything, so long as he had Geralt.)

Except, they reached the town of Shaerrawedd, where the two of them would usually part (though it was more logical to part while Jaskier was still  _ in Redania _ , making his travel to Oxenfurt much easier, they hadn’t done that in years. Jaskier liked to think it was because Geralt missed him as much as he missed Geralt), and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye. They travelled up the nearby Lixela river together, and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye. They passed through one of the smaller towns to have a warm night’s stay in an inn, and Geralt still hadn’t said goodbye.

Jaskier decided he had to put a stop to this as they passed through Ard Carraigh. There were no more towns left, he couldn’t go much further and still be able to travel back safely when Geralt finally  _ did _ work up the courage to say goodbye.

“I suppose this is where we part ways,” Jaskier sighed quietly, watching Geralt brush down Roach in the stables. It sounded far sadder than he had intended it to.

Geralt went stiff, the movements of the brush stuttering for a moment. He cleared his throat and continued brushing. Jaskier gave him the space and time needed to think out his words, knowing the drill by now.

“Actually,” Geralt said quietly, “I thought you could come along this year. As my guest.”

Jaskier froze.  _ Really _ ?!

“Really?!” He asked, unable to hide his excitement.

Geralt looked like he immediately regretted his decision, once faced with the brunt of Jaskier’s joy. “Yes, really.” He shot Jaskier a teasing look (which was still his usual glare, just with a barely-there lift at one corner of his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes). “If you can behave, that is.”

Jaskier gasped, clutching at his chest in false offense. “As if I would  _ ever _ !”

Geralt smirked fully, now. “Ever behave? I know, it truly will be a challenge.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped and he shoved at Geralt’s shoulder (even while knowing that Geralt only moved with it because he  _ wanted _ to, Jaskier would never be able to manhandle Geralt on his own), unable to hold back his laughter. “See if I behave, now! You know that’s not what I meant!”

Geralt didn’t respond, he simply finished brushing Roach before gathering the bags they needed for the night. Jaskier trotted after him as he strode from the stables, making sure his lute case was secured safely on his back.

“The hike up to Kaer Morhen is not an easy one,” Geralt said. “Even less so right now, with the ice and snow. Make sure you have what you need: provisions, good boots, a heavy cloak. I’ll not have you whining the whole way.”

Jaskier gasped again. “I do not  _ whine _ , thank you very much!”

Geralt hummed, giving Jaskier a playful side-eye.

Jaskier scoffed and followed Geralt into the inn.

They booked a room and Jaskier set out, for once leaving Geralt to bathe on his own instead of offering his help. He had some coin saved up from the past few towns, and he intended to put it to good use. As much as the townsfolk needed the funds as well, with a harsh winter setting in, people threw coin by the bucketful to see a traveling bard in a tavern during the cold seasons. The days were short, the nights were long, and things were dreary and cold and  _ depressing _ . The cheerful, bouncing tunes Jaskier had been preferring as of late were exactly what they wanted, exactly what they  _ needed _ , and they paid handsomely for it.

He managed to get a decent amount of jerky, enough that it should last the trip up into the Blue Mountains and then even have some left over. Geralt had been spot-on: his boots were worn and torn, and the light frosts they’d had so far had left his socks soaking and freezing. Frankly, Jaskier was surprised he even had toes  _ left _ , at this point. He shelled out for a brand new pair, expertly made, warm, and built for walking; he even paid extra to get some (what Geralt would call useless) decoration and ornamentation on them. He  _ was _ still a bard, after all.

The cloak was a bit harder. Jaskier had one that was functional enough for autumn, but as the weather had been changing, he'd been stealing Geralt’s more often than not. Thanks to the mutations, Geralt had more resistance to the cold weather than Jaskier, but Jaskier was sure that even a witcher had their limits when it came to the weather. Otherwise, why would Geralt have a heavy cloak in his size in the first place?

It took Jaskier near-until the markets closed for him to find one he was satisfied with. The cloak was already nearly perfect for his height, enough so that he wouldn’t need to get it tailored before they left (which, he wouldn’t be able to, seeing as Geralt liked to leave first thing in the morning), and lined with warm fur. It repelled the elements nicely. The fabric itself was a rich cornflower blue, to bring out his eyes, and it even had a hood attached. And, it was enchanted to be waterproof, which would be greatly needed if the weather was to grow worse.

It was perfect. And  _ expensive _ , but he could afford it.

He made it back to the inn, entered their room, and had to hold himself back from huffing out a laugh. Geralt had fallen asleep in the tub,  _ again _ . It almost always happened, on the rare occasions he left Geralt to his own devices as he bathed. It didn’t even look like he had washed his hair.

Truly, what would Geralt ever do without him?

He gently shook Geralt with a soft, “Wake up, my dear witcher.”

Geralt startled awake, eyes quickly going from bleary to alert as he tried to pinpoint what woke him. Jaskier carefully pushed him back to recline in the tub once more before gathering the soaps and oils Geralt had beside the tub to tend to his hair. Geralt was practically asleep once more, by the time Jaskier finished.

“Come on, you big baby,” Jaskier said, shaking Geralt awake yet again. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Geralt grumbled wordlessly, allowing Jaskier to tug him out of the bath. He stepped away to let Geralt dry and dress himself, feeling as though that may be  _ too _ intimate, especially with certain feelings he was harboring. Still, he watched out of the corner of his eye to make sure Geralt dressed properly for bed. He loathed to remember the days where Geralt would sleep in his  _ armor _ , especially when he had to  _ share a bed _ with a Geralt in armor.

It was uncomfortable for everyone, to say the least.

Thankfully, over the many,  _ many _ years they had travelled together, Jaskier had talked Geralt down into simply trousers and a shirt (and his boots at first, which took almost as long to coax him out of as the armor). His next goal was to talk Geralt out of the shirt, because that man was far too touch starved for his own good, and Jaskier was prescribing heaps of cuddles immediately. It would be a far more effective treatment if Geralt let Jaskier cuddle up to those wonderful muscles.

They crawled into bed, and Jaskier tried to make it seem like a completely natural accident that his back pressed up against Geralt’s as they both settled on their sides, facing away from each other. He heard Geralt’s breathing level out rather quickly (quickly for Geralt, at least), and Jaskier could tell that he was starting to feel more at ease the closer they got to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier himself struggled to fall asleep for a while, his excitement and nerves battling his tired eyes and heavy limbs and drawing out the fight for the longest time.

When he finally did slip into unconsciousness, it was with a smile on his face.

  
  
  


As usual, Geralt was the first of them awake, rising with the sun. He allowed himself a few moments of weakness, just a few moments to enjoy Jaskier’s tendency to become an octopus overnight and cuddle deeply into Geralt wherever he could manage, just a few moments to watch how young and peaceful Jaskier looked in his sleep. Then, he rose and began packing for the trip up the mountain.

The first snow had been a few days ago, and it had been very light. The snows to follow had been the same, which made Geralt dangerously hopeful for their trek through the mountains. If the snows had been heavier, or if they  _ got  _ a heavier snow during their travels, Geralt worried for Jaskier’s safety. And for Roach’s.

Geralt would be able to handle it, his mutated genes would be able to fight off the cold, for the most part, and any effects that came with it, short of them landing themselves in a blizzard. Jaskier, on the other hand, was human, and he could freeze. He could get hypothermia, or frostbite, or pneumonia, or any number of things. Truthfully, that was one of the main reasons he’d never invited Jaskier to winter with him before, despite Kaer Morhen being open to witchers’ guests (though, those guests usually tended to be sorcerers and sorceresses, mages, or otherwise unnaturally hardy people).

The other reason, of course, being the monster infestations. Geralt and the others did their best to keep the numbers at bay, and many of the mountain monsters would be hibernating soon, if they weren’t already, but there was always the chance that one didn’t get enough food in the cold weather and was still hunting; or, even worse, that a monster would come swooping in and attack on their way down the mountain once spring hit, and Geralt would be too slow to protect Jaskier.

But frankly, Geralt got lonely without Jaskier. Lonely in a way that he didn’t know how to describe. He shouldn’t have been lonely, seeing as he had his brothers, Vesemir, and whoever else decided to winter in Kaer Morhen, but it was lonely in a way their company couldn’t reach. Just as, sometimes, Geralt felt himself lonely in a way that Jaskier couldn’t reach throughout the rest of the year, his idiotic heart yearning to pin Lambert down in a wrestling match, or shove Eskel off the icy roof during repairs into a snowbank below, or even to have Vesemir  _ lecture _ him.

It was probably something that should worry him more than it did, his attachment to Jaskier, but he couldn’t be bothered. Jaskier had latched onto him, wormed his way into Geralt’s closed-off heart and planted roots, just like a stubborn weed. Geralt had long gotten over being bothered over his attachment, now he was just focused on keeping Jaskier in his life.

In any capacity.

He woke Jaskier once he’d packed everything, letting the bard sleep in. The trip up the mountain was a rough one, and Geralt doubted he would sleep well no matter how large the fire to keep them warm. It wasted precious daylight, but Geralt tried to dismiss that anxious thought. He couldn’t treat this like his normal trip up the Killer, not while bringing Jaskier with him.

“Five more minutes,” Jaskier groaned, turning over in bed.

Geralt buried down his fond smile. “Get up, Jaskier. We need to get on the road.”

Jaskier whined, but sat up when Geralt prodded at his side. Geralt gave Jaskier a few moments to get ready, making his way down the stairs to get them some breakfast from the innkeeper. Normally, he wouldn’t splurge, but he wanted Jaskier as well-fed as possible before the trip, and there wouldn’t be much to hunt this close to the winter storms.

Jaskier was dressed and double-checking their packs by the time Geralt got back up to the room with their meals. He gave Geralt a bright smile and twirled over, squeezing Geralt’s bicep and leaving Geralt’s skin tingling with the burn of his touch before taking one of the plates from Geralt’s hands.

“Geralt, my dear, you are an absolute  _ gods-send _ . This looks delicious, thank you, darling.”

Geralt hummed and started picking at his own food.

“So, Geralt, tell me what the trip up the mountain is like. Daring adventure, lovely views, any ballad-worthy material?”

Geralt hesitated. “The path is called the Killer. Even experienced witchers have passed on it.”

Jaskier paused on his next bite, processing the meaning of his words. Geralt could hear his heartbeat spike for a moment, a sour note of anxiety staining his scent. 

“Passed as in--” 

“I won’t let that happen,” Geralt tried, floundering for a way to fix the fear he’d caused.

Jaskier softened, reaching out to squeeze Geralt’s knee. “I know, darling. You would never let anything happen to me.” He brightened again, the sour note fading away. “The drama would make for a wonderful ballad, anyway. The  _ Killer _ , hm…”

Jaskier continued to prattle on about the ideas he was already forming for his ballad about the adventure, eating speed extremely slowed by it. Geralt ate a little faster in hopes that it would subtly spur Jaskier on to do the same, but to no avail. Eventually, after Geralt had been sitting with an empty plate for several minutes, he sighed and interrupted Jaskier as gently as he could, and failed miserably.

“We need to head out, soon,” Geralt said, more gruffly than he had intended. “The days are short and the weather is harsh.”

Jaskier blinked. “Oh, of course,” he replied, and started shoveling the food down seemingly as fast as he could without making himself sick.

They returned the plates and the key to their room to the innkeeper on their way out. It had snowed again overnight, still light enough to not yet be a huge concern, but it did make Geralt wary for the upcoming days of travel. Luckily, Jaskier had taken his advice to heart: he had a brand new pair of boots that would serve him well, even after the winter, as well as a new winter cloak that Geralt could smell the magic on. Not a strong enough charm to set off his medallion, but a freshly-cast one that still smelled of the odd ozone-like scent of Chaos.

Roach was quickly saddled up and they set out on the road. For the first stretch of their journey, Jaskier strummed away at his lute, humming melodies and testing out lyrics. Geralt didn’t protest as he usually would (false as those protests were, these days) because he knew what was coming.

Sure enough, not even a few hours in, Jaskier gave up. His chords had been becoming more and more dissonant and muted as his fingers numbed and became inflexible from the cold, and he must have finally decided that his fingers were too uncooperative to continue on. To make up for it, he chattered on and off as they continued to hike through the mountain, whether to Roach or Geralt, thankfully not expecting much answer from either of them.

As sunset loomed ever nearer, Geralt started searching for a shallow cave to shelter them for the night. He didn’t want a deep cave, filled with caverns and crannies, as the rock trolls in the Blue Mountains weren’t exactly fond of witchers and they had no doubt already laid claims to all the larger ones, but they needed a cave nonetheless.

Jaskier was shivering from the dropping temperatures and growing altitude by the time Geralt finally found something suitable. He ushered Jaskier inside as quickly as he could, pulling out the dry wood he’d carefully tucked away from his pack. Jaskier took the kindling from him before Geralt could even get started.

“Jaskier--”

“Let me help,” Jaskier said, teeth chattering. “Moving around will keep me warm. I can do it.”

Geralt reluctantly released his hold on the wood and kindling and moved to untack Roach, grabbing some dried meat from one of the saddlebags as he did. He made sure she was well-set with some oats and hay before moving back to Jaskier, lighting the fire with  _ Igni  _ as he approached without being asked.

“About how much further?” Jaskier asked, the shivers and chattering teeth thankfully dying down.

Geralt made sure to swallow the food in his mouth before speaking, knowing how much talking with a full mouth bothered Jaskier. “About three days, maybe,” Geralt said. “Two if we push it.”

Jaskier nodded, taking another bite of his jerky and scooting closer to the fire. Geralt frowned. It would probably be safest for them to push their bedrolls together, tonight. Even with the protection of the cave and the roaring fire, Jaskier still didn’t seem to be doing well. He was worried about how the next few days would go.

  
  
  


Jaskier woke with a warm weight at his back, and a similar warmth barring around his stomach and chest. From his shoulders down was decently warm, buried under furs, but he quickly became aware of the fact that he  _ really  _ could not feel his nose. He reached up a hand to close around it, trying to warm it and rub some feeling back into it. His cheeks and ears and forehead, and really, his whole face, were also absolutely freezing. The cold was stuffing up his nose, too, numb as it was, and Jaskier sniffled uncomfortably.

He looked behind him and was unsurprised to see Geralt at his back. He didn’t seem as bothered by the cold, and yet Jaskier’s hand was already going numb from being out in the air for only a few moments. It made sense. Kerack was out past the humid and heated forests of Brokilon, near the coast, and Lettenhove practically sat on Kerack’s beaches. It was a much warmer climate, out west, and Jaskier certainly was not used to the mountains and cold weather. Even now, with him usually settling in Novigrad or Oxenfurt for most winters while he awaited Geralt’s return, it didn’t get this cold.

Jaskier peeked over Geralt’s shoulder to the mouth of the cave. It was still dark out, which wasn’t too telling during this season as to the time of day, but Geralt was still asleep, so Jaskier figured it wasn’t time to get moving, yet. Instead, he turned around so he was facing Geralt, pulled the furs up over his ears, and buried his frozen nose into Geralt’s warm chest. He fell back asleep before his face had even regained feeling.

The next time he woke up, it was to Geralt gently shaking him and talking to him.

“Jaskier, come on. We need to get moving soon.”

Jaskier whined and buried his face further into Geralt’s chest. “It’s cold,” he moaned.

“I know. The sooner we get to the keep, the sooner you can keep warm. There’s plenty of fireplaces, and a hot spring. And plenty of furs to burrow underneath. We just need to get there.”

Geralt was being uncharacteristically soft, which helped wake Jaskier up the rest of the way. He sniffled, the cold still making him feel horribly congested. When he looked up and peeled his eyes open, he found that Geralt’s eyes were filled with barely-concealed worry, despite his constant insistence that witchers didn’t have feelings (insistence that had, thankfully, grown weaker and weaker over the years).

“Oh, relax, you big worry-wart,” Jaskier mumbled, sitting up and wrapping the furs around himself.

Geralt shivered ever-so-slightly at being exposed to the cool air, but otherwise showed no signs that it was bothering him. Jaskier, on the other hand, was already rapidly losing body heat again, and was not inclined to drop the furs anytime soon.

“I’ll be fine, I’m just not quite used to the cold. Are we setting out?”

Geralt stared at him for a moment. His nostrils flared. Then, he relaxed.

“You should eat first,” Geralt said. “It snowed again last night, you’ll need your strength.”

Jaskier wasn’t going to complain. If he could have his breakfast before getting on the road, rather than having to eat and jog alongside Roach at the same time, he was happy. He dug some of the jerky out of his pack and stayed curled up in the sleep-warmed furs as he ate, watching Geralt move around the little cave to pack up what little they’d used the night before.

It wasn’t too long before Jaskier was bundled back up in his waterproof cloak (and even Geralt was huddled up in his own cloak, now) and the three of them were back on the road. Roach seemed unbothered by the snow, but Jaskier certainly wasn’t. The snow had gotten up to Jaskier’s knees overnight, and despite his new boots and his cloak, his trousers were soaked through after hardly any walking.

After an hour, Geralt made a growling noise deep in his throat and turned toward Jaskier. “Get on Roach.”

Jaskier squinted at him. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to touch Roach.”

Geralt grunted and Jaskier decided not to argue further. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, no pun intended. He fumbled trying to climb up, his legs going uncooperative with the cold, and Geralt steadied him with a hand on his back that made Jaskier shiver for reasons entirely unrelated to the weather. Jaskier did not fail to notice how much faster they moved once he had been settled in the saddle.

He sniffled a little --  _ still  _ congested from the cold, and wasn’t that unfair -- and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. “Are we going to make it?” He asked. “Before the pass closes? You’ve mentioned before that the snow made it impossible to come or go.”

Geralt looked back at him. “We’ll make it.”

Jaskier wasn’t quite reassured, but he fell silent, anyway. The cold made him drowsy, but his lips were too numb to even speak or sing correctly to keep himself awake. Instead, he swapped between nibbling at jerky (despite not being particularly hungry, just to stay alert and aware) and doing his best to fidget even though his fingers and hands didn’t want to move.

Sunset found them in another cave, Geralt setting up camp, but Jaskier couldn’t even help with the fire this time, his hands were so cold. He should’ve thought to buy gloves in town, as well, but instead he’d spent most of the day with them shoved under his thighs or pinned up under his own armpits. Instead, he watched, ate whatever Geralt handed him, and crawled onto his bedroll and buried himself in all of the furs they had with them. 

He was so sleepy, he was barely aware of Geralt climbing under the furs with him to help keep him warm with body heat -- he probably wouldn’t have noticed if not for the blast of cold air at his back. He felt Geralt pull the furs up over his face before he slipped into sleep.

It was Geralt that woke him first the next morning instead of the cold, and this time he kept one of the furs tucked up against himself under his cloak as they left their small cave. He climbed up onto Roach first thing -- luckily it hadn’t snowed any more the night before, but none of it had melted -- and that day went much the same as the previous one. Jaskier talked and sang and joked around as much as he could before his lips went numb, and he pretended not to notice how Geralt’s shoulders relaxed at the constant stream of noise.

Geralt could deny it all he wanted, and Jaskier would let him pretend for now (he was a good friend and a pining fool, what could he say?), but he could tell Geralt had been worried, even without him saying anything. There had been a tightness around his eyes, a tenseness in his posture. Jaskier couldn’t fix it until they were at the keep and he could  _ function _ without  _ freezing _ , but he could do his best in the mornings to try and help Geralt relax.

The day was drab after Jaskier couldn’t move his lips well enough anymore. And again, the cold made him tired and congested and there wasn’t much he could do to keep himself awake. This time, he failed at staying up, and wound up dozing off on Roach’s back. Geralt woke him to eat lunch, but he dozed off once more and stayed asleep until Geralt brought them to that night’s cave.

“Another day of travelling, tomorrow?” Jaskier asked sleepily as they ate dinner.

Geralt hummed. “Not too far, now, we could make it before lunch.”

Jaskier frowned. “Why didn’t we just finish the trip today?”

“You’re not doing well in the cold. It gets worse at night.”

“I could’ve made it,” Jaskier grumbled, pouting.

“No.”

Jaskier decided not to push, because he  _ was _ rather grateful for the rest, and for the fire to warm his numb extremities. Despite sleeping most of the day, Jaskier fell asleep very quickly that night. He curled into Geralt’s warm body, pressing his cold nose into Geralt’s chest. 

He could not wait until they got to Kaer Morhen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay i did forget about this chapter because of my lack of sleep but my friends were talking about kissing and i was like "oh shoot my fanfic" so here I am now lol. Technically I still have a few hours left on the 21st where I am so this is still within my posting schedule and I'm not late, even if its very late in the day lol
> 
> I dont even remember what this chapter says atm or if I need to add more tags atm for it because i have taken my sleeping meds and they are slowly starting to kick in so just bear with it until i am more aware lol

Eskel woke with the sun, as usual, and immediately pulled himself out of bed. There was no rest for witchers, even when winter rolled around. There was always something that needed to be done: repairs on the keep, training, refreshing their memories on the bestiaries. Vesemir had probably already set breakfast out and was just waiting for them to come downstairs so he could assign chores.

Eskel wondered what would happen if he just didn’t go down, if he just crawled back into bed and slept the day away. If he found a covering for the window to block out the morning sun, he probably could.

Not that Vesemir would let him. He’d probably march right into Eskel’s room and drag him out of bed by his ear. It wouldn’t be the first time.

So instead, he stayed up and went to get dressed, peering out the window as he did so. He could smell the storm coming, see the clouds building on the horizon. With how the winds had been lately, it was bound to hit by afternoon, and a storm that big would no doubt close the pass.

And one regular was still missing.

Sure, other witchers would come and go, winter with them once or twice, if they could make it to the keep before the pass closed, and witchers from other schools were certainly invited to stay, but their main population for the winter tended to be Wolves. 

Vesemir was mostly retired, looking after the keep during the year and taking hunts nearby if he needed to. Lambert, despite all his talk about abandoning the old keep and finding somewhere new to winter (something that caused far too many arguments), always showed up before the snows cut them off from the world. Eskel himself made it back every winter he could manage, only having ever missed a few, and Geralt was much the same. None of them had heard from Berengar since he left for the path, so it was needless to say that he never returned for the winter, if the asshole was even still alive.

Was that really all the Wolves they had left?

Sure, Coen wintered with them on and off, more regularly than any other witchers, but he was a Griffin and he tended to find his own place to winter unless he was already in the area. While it would be nice to see him that year, it was unlikely that he would be there at all. So, truly, they were just waiting on one person, now.

Well, wherever Geralt was, Eskel hoped he’d either found somewhere else to wait out the cold, or that he would be able to make it to the keep before the storm hit, later. He did not want to trudge back down the path come spring and find the frozen corpse of his brother.

Though maybe he should leave, first, just in case. Lambert and Vesemir didn’t need to see that, though he imagined they’d prefer to be present for the funeral.

But for now, Eskel needed to put it all out of his mind and get to work. 

Breakfast was a tense affair, Lambert and Vesemir both not having settled in enough yet to relax. Geralt’s continued absence was clearly causing some tension in them both, as well. Eskel barely managed to diffuse yet another explosive argument by asking what repairs Vesemir wanted them to tend to, that day. They didn’t need a repeat of the incident from a few years back, when Vesemir packed up his hunting gear and vanished for a full month after one too many harsh words with Lambert.

And that’s how Eskel found himself wrapped up in his cloak in the freezing cold, repairing one of the outer walls before the storm came. He had been at it for a good few hours when the back of his neck prickled, almost as if he was being watched. He turned and watched a familiar figure crest the last slope on the path to Kaer Morhen, followed by a familiar horse.

And an unfamiliar figure on the back of said horse.

Well, well, it seemed as though Geralt had brought a guest. Eskel had been wondering when Geralt would finally give in and bring his bard around to meet them. It seemed that all winter for the past several years, his bard was all Geralt thought about: if he was eating and sleeping alright, if his classes in Oxenfurt were going well, if he’d managed to anger any spouses recently.

Granted, it wasn’t like Geralt ever actively said such things around them. No, ever since Blaviken, Geralt had been closed-off and standoffish, even to Eskel. It just so happened, though, that Geralt had a  _ horrible  _ habit of talking to himself (or Roach) when he  _ thought _ he was alone and no one could hear him. He really should be more aware of a witcher’s sense of hearing, considering he was a witcher himself.

Or maybe Geralt had just finally snapped and lost his mind, who knew.

All of that aside, Eskel immediately dropped what he was doing and moved out to meet them halfway. The figure on the horse was listing to the side, and Eskel knew it was important to get the fragile human by the fire as soon as they possibly could. Geralt’s poor bard looked like he was about to fall right out of the saddle.

Plus, maybe he missed his brother a little. It wasn’t important.

Eskel saw Geralt pick up the pace a little to meet up with him sooner. The moment they were in arms distance, Geralt reached out and gripped his forearm, squeezing gently. A scoff sounded from the back of Roach.

“Hug your brother, Geralt,” the bard said dryly. “No one will snitch.”

Eskel chuckled, already reaching out to bring Geralt into a crushing bear hug, which was reluctantly returned. Just like everything else, Geralt had fallen out of the casual physical contact they used to share as children after Blaviken happened. He hadn’t gotten many hugs out of the man in a number of years.

He pulled back and clasped Geralt’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you again.”

Geralt, eloquent as ever, grunted at him.

On Roach’s back, the bard put his whole body into rolling his eyes, nearly falling out of the saddle in the process, saved only by Geralt reaching up and steadying him without hesitation.

Huh.

“I’m Jaskier,” the bard said, voice drowsy. He reached out a hand. “ _ Extremely _ pleased to make your acquaintance. Judging from what little I’ve managed to wrangle out of Geralt, I’d wager that you’re Eskel.”

“You’d get your money back on that wager.”

“You need to get inside,” Geralt said gruffly, tugging Roach along.

Eskel kept pace easily, standing on the other side of Roach to make sure Jaskier didn’t fall. It seemed that this human  _ especially _ didn’t handle cold well, worse than others Eskel had seen. Eskel thought he might have a rough time, spending the winter in the Blue Mountains, but he didn’t say anything. They could burn the fireplaces brighter, make sure the stone keep stayed warm enough for Jaskier to manage.

He just hoped Geralt wouldn’t start mother-henning about.

  
  
  


Geralt was mother-henning.

Geralt had let Jaskier ride Roach for three days straight, he’d barely said a  _ word _ to Eskel (which may have been normal, who knew, it was  _ Geralt _ , after all), and he didn’t even insist on untacking Roach himself when they finally made it into the keep’s courtyard. 

He practically lifted Jaskier off Roach’s back, leaving Eskel to untack her for him, and ushered Jaskier inside. No one was immediately in the main hall, so Jaskier was helped through the kitchen, right up the stairs, and into what he assumed to be Geralt’s room, where he was swiftly told to strip.

Jaskier blinked once, twice. “Excuse me?”

“The snow got up underneath your cloak. Your clothes are wet and damp. Take them off before you get hypothermia.”

Jaskier scoffed and grumbled, but started stripping off his clothes anyway. Geralt started a fire in the fireplace as Jaskier tossed his clothing over various pieces of furniture to dry. Once the fire was lit, Geralt left the room without a word as to where he was going and left Jaskier standing in the middle of his room in just his smallclothes.

Jaskier sighed and shook his head, far too used to this sort of behavior. He grabbed one of the furs off of Geralt’s bed and wrapped it around himself before plopping down onto the rug in front of the fire. It was a long few minutes before Geralt reappeared, one of Jaskier’s bags slung over his shoulder and a wooden bowl and spoon in his hand.

“Leftover breakfast,” Geralt grunted, thrusting the bowl in Jaskier’s direction.

“What is it?” Jaskier asked suspiciously.

He didn’t know if the inability to cook spread to all witchers, but he did know that Geralt was absolutely abysmal at it. He could barely roast rabbits over the fire, and once Jaskier realized that, he had taken over cooking for good. He made sure to stock up on spices and cookware light enough to travel with, because there was no way he was eating Geralt’s cooking unless their lives depended on it.

“Stew,” Geralt said, thrusting the bowl at him again. “Vesemir made it.”

Hesitantly, Jasker took the bowl. It was warm and the contents were steaming, suggesting that Geralt -- or someone that hopefully wasn’t Geralt, given his penchant to char everything -- had put it back over the fire to heat it up for him. Carefully, he brought the spoon up to his mouth and gave the stew a small taste.

It was  _ amazing _ .

Grateful for a warm, hearty meal after so many days of nothing but cold jerky, Jaskier started scarfing the stew down as fast as he could. He almost choked when Geralt touched him, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other on the wrist holding the spoon.

“Slow down, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Jaskier swallowed the bite he had in his mouth. “I’d gladly take being sick if it meant I got more of this amazing food in my mouth immediately.”

Geralt huffed out a breath and Jaskier grinned victoriously, knowing it was a laugh. His smile turned into an affronted glare, however, when Geralt tugged the half-finished bowl from his hands.

“Hey, I--” Jaskier started to protest.

Geralt cut him off by shoving a bundle of cloth in his arms. Looking down, Jaskier saw that it was a pile of clothing from his pack, and Geralt had even put in the time to find a matching doublet, chemise, and trousers instead of tossing him any three random pieces of clothing like he normally would. Jaskier chuckled and started pulling the clothes on.

“Trying to help me make a good impression meeting the family, Geralt?”

Geralt grunted and handed him back the stew.

Jaskier froze with the spoon halfway up to his mouth. “Aren’t you going to get something to eat?”

“I’m fine.”

Jaskier sighed again. He was used to having to bully Geralt to take care of himself, but it really was a full-time job.  _ Especially _ if Geralt was in his mother-hen mode. So, despite how much he wanted to inhale the rest of his stew, and especially while it was still warm, Jaskier set the bowl on the floor in front of him.

“I’m not finishing until you agree to go downstairs and get something to eat.”

Geralt glared at him. “I’m  _ fine _ .”

Jaskier crossed his arms and looked away, staring into the fire.

Geralt made a frustrated noise deep in his throat and stood, storming out of the room. Jaskier’s smile returned.

“Bring it back up here so I know you’re really eating it!” Jaskier called after him.

Geralt didn’t respond, but Jaskier knew he heard him. He also knew he could trust Geralt to do as he was told, at least this once, and picked up his own bowl of stew before it cooled down. He made an effort to eat slower, not actually wanting to get sick despite what he said to Geralt. He ate at a reasonable pace until Geralt reappeared with his own bowl of stew and sat back down next to Jaskier.

“So,” Jaskier said. “What’s on the agenda?”

Geralt shot him a questioning look, though thankfully not answering aloud when his mouth was full of food. Jaskier  _ hated _ that.

“Like, when do I meet the rest of the family?” Jaskier cocked his head to the side. “And what do you all even  _ do _ up here all winter?”

Geralt shrugged. “Train. Argue. Train.”

Jaskier made a sad noise in his throat. “I thought you all came up here to have a break. You all  _ deserve _ a break.”

“There’s no rest for witchers.”

Jaskier frowned. “I believe the expression is ‘there’s no rest for the wicked.’”

Geralt stared at him, eyebrows raised.

Jaskier swatted at his arm, scowling. “Witchers are  _ not _ wicked. I’m going to come up with some sort of system to punish you every time you have a self-deprecating thought. I’ll find some way to spritz you with water every time, like a naughty cat. Or something like that, I’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t.”

“I  _ will _ ,” Jaskier said, pointing his spoon threateningly at Geralt. “Just watch me. I’ll have a system before winter is over.”

“Hmm.”

They ate in silence for a few minutes. Jaskier finished his stew first and placed his bowl on the ground, scooting closer to Geralt as subtly as he could. 

“I notice how you dodged my other question, by the way.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier nudged their knees together. “Come on, when do I get to meet the rest of the family? Your little shit of a little brother and your dad.”

Geralt shifted and looked away, face scrunching up in that weird, subtle way that Jaskier had decided meant Geralt would be blushing, if witchers could blush. He shoveled a few more spoonfuls of food into his mouth before replying.

“Don’t let them hear you.”

Jaskier paused. Blinked once, twice. “Are you -- Is calling your family ‘ _ your family _ ’ too mushy-feely for you, Geralt? By the gods, I can’t believe--”

“Don’t.”

Jaskier put his head in his hands and muttered about witchers and their stunted emotions. Geralt was obviously deciding to be petty in his lack of reply. After a few more moments, he gave up and just flopped into Geralt’s side, closing his eyes with a huff.

“You should rest.”

Jaskier scowled, keeping his eyes closed. “I’ve done nothing but sleep the whole way up the mountain, I don’t need  _ more _ sleep.”

“The conditions were hard on your body. You need to rest.”

Jaskier grumbled, but let Geralt man-handle him into standing. He put up rather meager protests as he was herded toward the bed, honestly feeling quite drowsy now that his stomach was full of warm food.

“Sleep here, Vesemir would have already cleaned the bed. I can have a room cleaned for you later.”

“Don’t bother,” Jaskier said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. “It’s sure to get cold at night, a big stone keep like this. I’ll just stay in here, you can help keep me warm.”

Truthfully, Jaskier did not want to be separated from Geralt. They shared beds in inns more often than not, and they arranged their bedrolls at least _near_ each other almost every night they slept outside, if not right next to each other. He wasn’t really used to sleeping on his own anymore, and his rest during the winter was always fitful because of that. He needed to hear Geralt’s breath close to his ear, be able to feel the body heat radiating at his side. He didn’t want a cold, lonely room all by himself somewhere else in the keep.

Plus, his pining ass always loved spending as much time with Geralt as he possibly could, even if they were just sleeping.

“Rest, Jaskier. I’ll wake you for dinner.”

Jaskier huffed and flopped into Geralt’s bed, curling up on his side. After a moment, the fur that he had dragged with him to the ground was tossed over his body. He breathed deeply and evenly, relaxing into the mattress, and started drifting off rather quickly.

Right before he slipped into darkness, he felt a hand, roughened with callouses and scars, run gently through his hair.

  
  
  


As soon as he was certain Jaskier had drifted off, Geralt reached out a hand to brush the hair out of his eyes, ignoring how his heart ached at his own actions. When Jaskier didn’t wake, he went and gathered their bowls and spoons to take down to the kitchen, not wanting the smell to fester in his room. He had only made that mistake  _ once _ , unlike Lambert, who’s room constantly smelled of food that was just slightly gone off.

And, speak of the devil, it seemed that the rest of the keep’s occupants had gathered in the kitchen while Geralt was getting Jaskier settled in. Well, not quite settled in, most of their packs hadn’t even been brought up to the room yet, but settled in enough to get him to take a nap.

“Hear you brought a boy toy,” Lambert said the moment Geralt opened the door to the kitchen.

“Fuck off,” Geralt replied.

“It’s unlike you to bring a guest,” Vesemir said.

Geralt didn’t reply, setting the dishes aside to clean later and trying to find some way to look busy. He opened a few cupboards, as if taking stock, but he wasn’t really taking anything in at all. He could hear Eskel and Lambert snickering behind him.

Oh how he missed the days where it was him and Eskel pulling shit on Lambert all the time, instead of them pulling shit on him. Or even just the days where it was him and Eskel pulling shit. They had some good times, back in their training days, hellish as they were.

“Is this that famous bard of yours?” Vesemir asked.

“He’s a bard, he’s famous, he’s not mine,” Geralt replied, giving up the front and closing the cupboard, sitting down with the rest of them.

“Yeah,” Lambert replied, oozing sarcasm. “Because the great Geralt of Rivia would let just any random bard off the streets follow him around for over a decade.”

Geralt glared at him. Lambert had long gotten over being scared of Geralt’s stare, as unfortunate as it was.

“Well, I’m not cleaning out a room for him,” Eskel said. “The dust in some of those old rooms is so heavy, I can’t breathe.”

“What, he’s not taking Merigold’s room?” Lambert asked, sneering. “Isn’t that where Geralt’s latest shag sleeps?”

Geralt growled, feeling anger flash hot through his body. “I never shagged Triss, and I’m not shagging Jaskier. Shut the fuck up.”

Vesemir held up a hand and put a stop to the argument before it could really start. “I assume the bard will want a room near yours?” He asked Geralt.

Geralt cleared his throat. “We’ll be sharing a room.”

In all honesty, Geralt was glad Jaskier suggested it. He slept better when Jaskier was near, when he could hear Jaskier’s breathing and heart rate to make sure he was still okay. He liked the way Jaskier would unconsciously wrap himself around the nearest source of heat -- so long as that source was Geralt -- and wouldn’t let go. It made him feel… wanted, in some way.

Plus, the whole point of bringing Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the winter was to be near him.

“And you say you’re  _ not _ shagging him?” Lambert asked incredulously.

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “He  _ wants _ to shag him, though.”

Vesemir let out a long, tired sigh, rubbing at his face. “All I’m hearing is that I don’t need to clean out another room.” He stood and started for the door. “As long as he does his share of the chores this winter, I don’t care what you two get up to. Just keep it quiet enough that the rest of us don’t have to know.”

Geralt screwed his face up in distaste and embarrassment. Sure, he knew his pining was rather  _ obvious _ , but they didn’t need to point it out as much as they did. Jaskier clearly did not feel the same way and never would, so as long as Geralt at least had Jaskier in his life in some fashion, he was fine. He just hoped Lambert and Eskel wouldn’t make a scene in front of Jaskier and ruin everything.

“It’s cold and he’s human.”

Eskel raised an eyebrow. “Not  _ that _ cold.”

“He’s from the coast. He’s used to warmer climates.”

“He’d adjust,” Lambert said. “You better figure this out fast, I don’t want to smell you two pining for the whole damn winter.”

_ That won’t be a problem _ , Geralt thought.  _ You’ll only have to smell me _ .

“If you’re not gonna fuck him,” Lambert continued, absolutely refusing to read the room, as usual, “maybe I will.” He gave Geralt a lecherous grin. “I hear bards are  _ great _ in bed.”

Geralt bared his teeth. “You won’t lay a damn  _ hand _ on him.”

“Yeah,” Eskel said. “Geralt called dibs, remember?”

Geralt decided that he’d had enough of their bullshit, for the time being and stood from the table. Without a word to either of them, he stormed out of the room, out of the keep, and down to the stables to check on Roach.

Eskel had untacked her for him while he’d gotten Jaskier up to his --  _ their _ ? -- room, and the bags that she had been carrying were piled up by the stable door. She huffed when Geralt came in, shifting restlessly in her stall. Scorpion spared them both a glance, and Lambert’s still-unnamed horse turned it’s back to Geralt. Geralt ignored them both and approached Roach.

“I know,” he murmured, rubbing her neck. “You hate being cooped up.”

Roach nudged her head into Geralt’s shoulder with a knicker.

“When the storm passes, you can wander around the courtyard again. Though I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you realize how cold it is.”

Roach raised her head and nibbled at his hair. Geralt allowed himself a small smile. He loved on her for a few more minutes before pulling away.

“No doubt Jaskier will be out here soon enough spoiling you rotten with treats. Seems like it will be an interesting winter for both of us.”

Geralt then gathered their bags from the floor and made his way back into the keep, walking past Lambert and Eskel in the kitchen without acknowledging them or their snickering. He climbed the stairs and opened the door to his room as carefully and quietly as he could, making sure not to wake Jaskier. He didn’t stir, but Geralt didn’t want to risk waking him, so he simply set the bags down and quietly left the room again.

Perhaps Vesemir would have a job for him to last until dinner.

  
  
  


Vesemir wasn’t yet sure what to make of Geralt’s bard.

He’d heard bits and pieces about the man over the years. “Jaskier said this” and “Jaskier did that,” if Geralt was drunk enough, or when he was reminiscing to himself or his horse if he thought himself alone. 

Not to mention, ever since the bard had come into Geralt’s life, the life itself had returned to his eyes. While he was still closed off, little by little over the years, Geralt was opening himself back up. Sometimes, they would even get glimpses of the man he was before Blaviken.

And Vesemir hadn’t heard anyone call Geralt “Butcher” in nearly a decade.

Thanks to Geralt’s bard, he was the White Wolf, now. A symbol of hope and strength instead of one of terror and bloodlust. A symbol that not only helped Geralt, but all of his boys on the Path during the year. So, though Vesemir hadn’t yet met this Jaskier and wasn’t sure of what to make of him, Vesemir was certain he’d like him just fine.

He was cleaning out an old armory to busy his hands when Geralt found him. The armory had been in disrepair for decades, and there were more important repairs to be taken care of throughout the keep, but he had needed a change of scenery. He waited for Geralt to say something, but he never did. Instead, he started cleaning up on the opposite side of the room as Vesemir.

“They’re just trying to get a rise out of you,” Vesemir said eventually.

Geralt grunted.

“They’ll get bored of it before the winter is even done, given you don’t give them what they’re after.”

“And that is?” Geralt asked tiredly.

“A reaction.”

They worked in silence for a few more moments before Vesemir spoke again.

“They’re distrustful of others. You understand this. They’re using their humor and teasing to guard their insecurities, but they will warm up to him. In no time, if he’s as charming as I’ve heard he is.”

“I want Jaskier to feel welcome here.”

“And he is.

Geralt didn’t seem convinced, but Vesemir didn’t continue to push. Geralt would learn eventually that not everyone in the world was out to get him, but Vesemir had done all he could, for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont have the time/energy to put the link to my tumblr but it's sociallyawkward--fics, and also i hope you enjoyed this. Goodnight everyone, I start the first day of my internship/last part of my schooling tomorrow so wish me luck (the anxiety of this is why i am so tired and also posting so late in the day lol)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Comments and kudos keep me going, so feel free to leave me as many as you'd like lol. You can also find me on my tumblr at [sociallyawkward--fics](https://sociallyawkward--fics.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> This fic, if all goes according to plan and I don't forget/get busy lol, should update with a new chapter every 5 days! See you in the next one!


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